


A Map of Shadows

by LSquared80



Series: A Map of Shadows [1]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: Where is the black van taking June in the season finale, and what happens when she reaches her destination?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all of season 1.

i.

There are no windows in the back of the van. The darkness is boundless. June can’t tell the difference between eyes open and eyes closed. She stretches her arm out, wiggling her fingers at the void, feeling how alone she is. 

June tries to guess the route they are taking by how smoothly or roughly the tires move along the terrain. It doesn’t feel like the path to the house where Hannah is being kept, and she lets go of the miniscule thread of hope for a face to face reunion. She is jostled now and then by a turn or bump. They have only stopped once, and not long enough to have reached a checkpoint. Unless, she wonders, the black van is immune to the probe of Gilead’s security. 

It’s impossible to know how long she’s been en route. June conjures the sound of Hannah’s voice asking, “How much longer?” It was the question she asked over and over during car trips, whether it was an hours-long drive to visit grandma or a quick outing to buy laundry detergent. Hannah had no concept of time – everything happened yesterday, even if in reality it was years ago – so June and Luke had developed a different way to measure time. A visit to grandma’s house was watching _Finding Nemo_ three times in a row. Driving to the grocery store was listening to _Wild Horses_ once. 

June feels the van slow and can’t decide if she’d rather sit through a movie ten times or barely make it through a single song. Everything is still and she grips the edge of the seat, digging her nails into the leather. There is a muted thump followed by another – two doors closing. There is a sudden burst of light as the doors part. June squints against it and slowly registers the faces of the two men who escorted her out of the Waterford house. Behind them, only sky and trees. 

“We’re here,” one of them says. 

She doesn’t ask where _here_ is. She unbuckles the belt around her waist and slides to the edge of the seat. Hunched, June moves toward the open air. The taller of the two men extends his arm and she grips a handful of his sleeve for leverage, hopping down to the ground. 

Her eyes dart around, taking in the generic surroundings. For a moment June thinks they are releasing her into the wild. But she hears the sound of another set of tires rolling over the pavement and a black sedan stops alongside them. 

Another man dressed in black exits the car holding a duffel bag. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. He looks at her. “You must be June.”

She is immobile, unanimated. Her breath is lodged in her throat until she manages a quiet, “Yes.”

He smiles. “This is for you,” he says, handing over the bag. 

June takes it by the handle. It’s polyester, black with a gray handle – the kind of bag Luke used fill with clothes and running shoes when he went straight from work to the gym.

“You can change in the van.”

She glances over her shoulder and then back, her eyes once again landing on the face of each man. They all smile or nod their assurance and June slowly pivots toward the open doors. She climbs back into the van. She flinches at the squeak of one of the doors closing, but they leave both open enough to give her privacy and light. 

June sets the bag on the bench seat and drags the zipper from one end to the other. The sound it makes, the releasing of the teeth from the metal slider, makes her smile. She reaches in and feels fabric, removes it, shakes it out. A red, short-sleeved jumpsuit. For a prisoner. Her chest seizes with panic. 

_Trust me._

She removes the bonnet from her head first, tossing it onto the floor. June plucks the pin out of her hair, and the long, unruly tendrils spill down her back. She sits to remove her boots and the brown socks, discarding them all haphazardly on the floor. She exchanges the dress for the jumpsuit. It’s the same shade of red but has pockets and a long panel of buttons down the front. June finds white socks and a pair of slip-on sneakers at the bottom of the bag. 

Dressed, she investigates what’s inside a zippered pocket and finds various toiletries – deodorant, mouthwash and toothpaste, a pot of clear lip gloss, a small bottle of hand lotion. June lets out a bark of delighted laughter and then clamps a hand over her mouth. She shakes her head – never has she been so excited, so overcome, by travel-sized toiletries. 

She pushes the doors all the way open and again accepts the outstretched hand of one of her captors or saviors, landing on her feet outside the van. 

“I know it’s not much better,” he tells her, “but we have to keep up appearances. If we had really arrested you, June, we’d have taken you to the courthouse for processing. Before we’d transport you anywhere again we’d have made you change into that.” 

“Here,” another of the men says, removing his black jacket for her to wear. 

She takes it. “Thank you.” 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? We have time before we need to leave again.”

June blinks, shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Sets the bag down and puts the jacket on. “No,” she finally answers. And then, “How much longer?”

x

They have to make it look real. Or it is all real. 

June rides in the back of the van again, but this time she can’t even reach out and feel the void around her. Handcuffs are tight around her wrists. 

She was warned about a mandatory checkpoint, even for the Eyes, and June prepares herself when they come to a full stop. She hears the distant hum of male voices – the driver is showing papers, ID cards. The doors open and she sees guards with machine guns strapped across their chests. They eye her with disdain before slamming the doors and waving them on. 

x

Her arms ache. The ride feels endless. 

“I know I’ve dreamed you a sin and a lie,” she whispers the song lyrics. “Faith has been broken…” June pauses, searching for the words in the recesses of her mind. “…and tears must be cried. Let’s do some living after-”

She lurches forward. The van is stopped. 

The doors open to reveal a driveway with a mailbox at the end. Houses that are smaller than those on the Waterford’s block line the other side of the street. She is helped out and comes to the conclusion she’s inside a garage. 

“This way,” someone says, tugging her arm, as the garage’s door rattles its way down and seals her inside the dark space. 

June shuffles her feet, following the man through a door and stepping into a small kitchen. The cuffs are removed and she rubs her wrists while her eyes take in the white tiled floor and a yellow tablecloth. There are dishes in the sink. Her eyes land on the doorway and a woman appears, dressed in a gray skirt and sweater. _Econowife_ , June thinks. 

“Hello,” the woman greets her. “I’m Anna. You must be June.”

She nods.

“Welcome to our house.”

June looks at the only Eye – the only guardian – left with her. He clears his throat, steps forward. “Yes. June, this is Anna and her husband Vincent is-”

“Right here,” a middle-aged man says, peeking into the kitchen from behind Anna. 

“This is your house?” June asks.

The couple nods. “And yours. For a while,” Anna replies. 

x

“We don’t mean to relegate you to the basement,” Anna explains, leading June down the stairs, “but it’s safer for you to be down here.”

“It’s fine. Of course,” June tells her. 

Anna leads the way across the cement floor to an open door. She reaches in to flip a switch on the wall, lighting the space with a buttery yellow. There is a bed pushed against the wall, covered in a pale peach quilt. There is a dresser and a small television sits atop a tall, narrow, empty bookshelf. “It only gets the news, of course, so you might not want to watch it.”

June smiles. “It’s all very nice.”

“There are some clothes in the drawers. I had to guess on the sizes.”

June stiffens. The words transport her to another room. She can feel the Commander’s breath on her neck, the scrape of the razorblade on her skin, his weight pressing her into a bed. She feels the itchy, heavy beading of the dress he gave her.

“June?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m sure they’re fine.”

Anna sets the duffel bag on the bed. “I’ll leave you to change. You’re free to move around the house, but if we turn the light above the staircase off that means it’s not safe for you to come upstairs. Are you hungry? I have eggs and some fresh bread.”

Her instinct is to turn the food down, to not be a bother. But June is famished and it would be wise to nourish herself. Her and the baby. “Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

“Come on up to the kitchen when you’re ready.” Anna pauses under the doorframe. “Door open or closed?” 

“Open.”

x

The jumpsuit is a pool of red on the floor, discarded in favor of a pair of gray cotton pants and a gray sweater, a shade lighter. It’s the kind of clothing June would have worn on a lazy Sunday. 

She leaves the room and finds the basement well lit. She climbs the stairs, hearing the noise of cooking the closer she is to the door that separates her from the kitchen – the clink of pots and pans, meat sizzling on the stove. 

“Hi,” June says, stepping into the kitchen and closing the door behind her. 

Anna turns from the stove. “You look nice,” she says. “I hope the clothes are comfortable?”

“Yes. Yes,” June repeats herself. “Much better than…”

Vincent is seated at the table but stands. He points to his own ear and says, “Sorry we can’t do anything about that,” indicating the red tag she’s been branded with. 

June shrugs. “You’re doing so much.”

“Have a seat,” he says, tugging one of the chairs away from the table. 

June observes their kitchen is not as tidy as the one Rita maintains, but it’s more inviting. More lived-in and reminiscent of what she remembers in her own homes from before. There are splashes of color and not everything is uniform; some canisters on the counter are bright green, others a drab blue gingham print. Shopping tokens are pinned to the refrigerator door under a black, circular magnet. 

She watches Anna scramble eggs and spread butter on toast. She notices Vincent wince every time he sits or stands and wonders what kind of job he has. Does he sit in the front seat of a car all day? Driving wealthy, ignorant men. 

“D-do you know Nick?” June stutters. She avoids using his last name, just in case it’s safer for her him not to.

Anna and Vincent look at her and then one another. 

“Did he do something to get me here?” 

“I’m sure it’s overwhelming, June, but the less you know about how you got here the better,” Anna says kindly. 

But June isn’t ready to let the subject go. She picks at a loose thread in the table cloth and asks, “Are you with Mayday?”

Vincent clears his throat. “You can trust us, June. Everything will make sense soon.”

x

The basement bedroom is smaller and darker than where she slept in the Waterford’s house, but June feels more secure. There is a sense of freedom in the windowless space. It’s a new territory to learn; the first time she gets out of bed to use the restroom she bumps her knee into a dresser drawer that won’t quite close all the way.

June leaves a light on outside the bedroom and leaves the door open a crack. She studies the shapes on the wall and ceiling, the shadows of furniture and knickknacks. It reminds her of lounging on the grass, staring up at the sky and naming the clouds. _“That one is a rabbit. That one is a plane.”_ The dark silhouettes could be a map. A way to navigate out of Gilead. June draws a line from one to another and another, from where she is to Hannah and then to Luke. A detour in between for Moira, and a brief backtrack to get Nick. 

x

She wakes to the light, warm weight of a hand on her belly. June’s eyes flutter open. The unfamiliar scenery of the bedroom washed in the artificial glow of a lamp is blurry at the edges. Her gaze lands on Nick’s face above her. She closes her eyes, shuts them to the faint light and the notion of wakefulness. She wants to live in the dream longer. It’s a good dream, one where she can feel his touch. 

“Good morning.”

June opens her eyes, sits abruptly. Nick’s features come into focus and she smiles. “You’re really here?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update. Thanks to everyone who has been reading!

ii.

“I’m really here,” Nick tells her. He lifts his hand to brush an errant strand of hair behind June’s ear, and to prove his appearance is grounded in reality. 

She smiles and tilts her head back briefly in relief. Her eyes close against the telltale sign of tears – pressure around her eyes, tightness in her throat. June leans forward and her head lands against the sturdy support of Nick’s shoulder. She feels his arms enfold her. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she says, her words muffled as she speaks into the soft curve where his neck meets his shoulder. 

He moves one hand to her head, stroking her hair before his palm settles against the back of her neck. Nick kisses the top of her head. “Does that mean you’re happy to see me?”   
June leans away enough to look in his eyes. “So fucking happy,” she confesses, using the back of her hand to catch a tear as it draws a shaky line down her cheek. 

“What did they tell you?” 

She shrugs. “Not much.” June recaps the little she knows about her hosts and the men who transported her. She adds, “I asked if they know you and they didn’t answer.”

Nick tells her, “They don’t know me. I was just a voice on the phone until a few minutes ago.”

June wants to know everything – what role he played in the black van’s arrival at the Waterfords, whether or not he is going on the next leg of her trip. But she is also afraid of the answers. For the moment she is content to be in such close proximity, to be able to touch him. And she does – clasping her hands around his face, letting her palms fall to his shoulders and then flatten against the planes of his chest. 

“How do you feel?” Nick asks, pointing his gaze at her stomach. 

“Good.” June shrugs. “A little nausea.”

Panic widens his eyes. “What can I-”

She smiles and shakes her head. “I’m okay, Nick. Nothing unusual.”

“You should eat something,” he suggests. “Anna was cooking when I got here.” 

x

There is a world where she lives in a house like this with Nick, and another where she never left the house she had with Luke and Hannah. 

June sits at the table in front of a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of sausage patties, thinking how she occupies more than one reality. There is the life she remembers and the one she’s been forced into. There is the life she imagines sewing together out of the best scraps Gilead has given her – Nick, their baby, Emily. The hardest to conjure is a future that blends the old and the new together into something lovely and free. 

She suddenly hears her name and snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry. What?” June asks.

Anna sets her spoon down. “I asked if everything tastes good.”

“Yes. Very good,” June tells her. She takes a sip of milk. “What happens next? How long is it safe for me to be here?”

Nick clears his throat. He asks to have a moment alone with June. 

“Of course,” Anna says, and she clears empty dishes from the table before she and Vincent leave the kitchen. 

Once it’s only the two of them and the quiet hum of the refrigerator, Nick moves his chair closer to June. He is nervous, forcing a smile and stalling the conversation by scratching an imaginary itch behind his ear and wiping crumbs from the front of his black shirt. “There’s only one place you can go,” he tells her. “We’re going to get you over the border. To Canada.”

 _Luke_ , she thinks. Her mind races with questions about the logistics and risks of her escape. June wonders how she will find her husband but leaves it unspoken. Instead she asks, “What about my daughter? How can I leave her here?” June’s voice quakes. 

Nick grabs hold of her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to Hannah. And I swear, I’ll do everything in my power to return her to you.” 

June smiles at his earnest declaration, but it fades and she says, “You’re staying here.” 

He winces. “I have to.”

She pulls her hand from his grasp and stands, the chair wobbling in her wake. “I don’t like this.”

“I can’t-”

“I’ll stay in this house until you or someone else gets Hannah. And we’ll all leave together.” June knows her words are ridiculous. It’s some kind of fairy tale, a story she is writing with a nonsensical plot. 

Nick rises from his chair. He stands still while she paces. “I wish I could give you everything you want right now, June. But I have no intention of saying goodbye to you.” He grabs a handful of her sleeve, holding her in place while he circles around to stand in front of her. “I’m not saying goodbye to our baby.”

She nods. She has to pretend like she believes everything he says is true and possible for herself as much as for Nick. “What will you do? I can’t leave if I don’t know you have a plan for Hannah.”

He doesn’t have to preface anything with _it won’t be easy_ ; that goes without saying. “I know the man who drove you and Mrs. Waterford that day,” Nick explains. “I know things about him. I can get him to tell me where she is.”

June holds a hand to her stomach. It’s something out of a spy novel. 

Nick goes on about building alliances, how every faction of Gilead has someone working for the other side. He sounds sure of himself, of his plans. “I know you’re scared,” he says. “But I need you to trust me one more time.”

She doesn’t agree to, but she doesn’t refuse either. June closes her eyes and falls against the front of his body, throwing her arms around him. 

They are locked in an embrace when the door squeaks open. Nick, alarmed, pushes in front of June. 

She recognizes the man as one of the drivers of the black van, and she knows Nick recognizes him by the way his shoulders relax. 

“Hey,” Nick greets him, stepping aside. “Is everything ready?”

“Not quite. Wanted to go over some things.”

Nick looks at June. “I’ve been gone a long time. I have to check in with the Commander,” he tells her. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

She nods and watches him exit through the door. 

x

The man tells her his name is Jonah and asks if she’s ever been to Canada before. He doesn’t seem that interested in June’s response, glancing at the door Nick left through. He interrupts her to say, “There’s another option for you, June.”

She holds her breath. 

“We can get you to Canada. Or you can go back to the Waterfords.” 

June narrows her eyes, takes a step back until she’s behind a kitchen chair, using it as a barrier. “Why would I want to go back?”

“You can work with us. You’ll be safe there. You can do so much more from the inside, June. And you’ll be closer to Hannah.”

She strangles back a sob. She feels violated that a near stranger knows so much about her, and somehow comforted. But the idea of returning to Serena Joy and the Commander, to being Offred, makes her skin crawl. But she focuses on the idea of being closer to her daughter and feels a pull toward the notion. In a matter of seconds she processes what it means – confined to the bedroom most of the day and night, letting Serena Joy consider herself the true mother of the child growing in her womb. But it also means being only hours from Hannah, and she’ll not only have the protection of Mayday but of her pregnancy; the Aunts and Eyes and everyone will have to treat her with reverence and care. There will be no need for ceremonies.

It means not leaving Nick. 

It means not seeing Luke. 

The door pops open and Nick’s pleasant expression quickly changes to a glower. He can feel a change in the room. “June,” he says. “What happened?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work and life (but mostly work) overwhelmed my days and nights for a while. The release of a few pictures of season 2, and all the awards, inspired me to get back to this. Thank you for reading!

Anna and Vincent heard the yelling and ushered everyone into the sitting room. June is in the armchair, Jonah on the sofa, Nick pacing the floor in front of them. He stops abruptly, planting his feet on the carpet. “The deal was getting her out!” he yells. 

It’s the angriest June has ever seen him. The only time, really, that she’s been witness to a temper. Nick’s hands are clenched into fists. There is a vein pulsing above his right temple.

He looks to their hosts. “Are you two in on this? Did you know when they brought her here that-”

“Nick, stop,” June commands gently, rising to her feet. “It doesn’t matter what they knew.” She holds his gaze for a long while, watching the rage slowly dissipate; his fingers uncurl and his shoulders sag, his jaw goes slack. “Let’s go downstairs,” she says, reaching her hand toward him.

x

The basement’s aesthetic is drab with jarring touches of color – a painting of a sunrise hanging on the cement wall, a red wagon holding daisies cross-stitched onto bright white cloth. June feels like she’s been transported to her childhood. Transported to sleepovers in another family’s basement, a homey but unfamiliar space with their own, private relics. She gets so caught up examining the minimal décor and vast, empty spaces that it’s startling when she feels Nick’s fingers skate down her back. 

June turns, offering a smile, and takes hold of his hand. She leads him to the bedroom and gestures for him to take a seat on the bed. 

Nick is obedient, but his anger seeps in, settles in his hunched shoulders. “You have to know this isn’t what I signed you up for,” he tells her. 

She nods and settles into the space beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “The thought of going back there…” June doesn’t need to complete her thought. “But the idea of staying closer to Hannah? How can I put so much distance between us when there’s an opportunity to be near her?” 

“You know how much danger you’ll be putting yourself into.”

June sighs and briefly touches a hand to her stomach. She turns her face into Nick’s arm and breathes in. She holds the scent of him in her lungs, in her nose. The musk, the remnants of the cold night, a hint of tobacco. “I’m not going to make a decision right now. I’m going to sleep on it.” 

Nick turns, curling his arms around her. He closes his eyes as June returns the embrace. He nods, but they both know she’s already made a decision. 

“Don’t leave yet?” She tilts back just enough to look up at his face, keeping her arms wound around him. 

He bends forward and drops a kiss on her forehead. “I’m right here,” Nick whispers. He kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose. 

June maneuvers on the bed to get closer to him, climbing up onto her knees. She frames his face with her hands and their mouths meet – softly, almost still. Their closeness is a comfort in the face of the looming threat of returning to the beating heart of Gilead. The rage Nick was hoarding in his muscles gives way to something else, something fiercer but tender, passionate and desperate. 

He drives his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of June’s head as he deepens the kiss. Nick alternates between kissing her swollen lips and the curve of her neck while her hands fumble to release the buttons on his shirt. The small bed squeaks beneath them as they work in tandem to remove the other’s clothes. 

Nick lets himself fall back against the bed and stretches his legs out while June settles over him. He grips her hips and his eyes drink in the sight of her long, loose hair spilling down her shoulders, the slope of her belly. His eyes claim every inch of her pale skin. Nick catalogs each scar and mole and stretch mark until the way June’s body envelopes him in heat is too overwhelming and his eyes squeeze shut. 

x

He falls asleep and June knows she needs to wake him. Nick has been away too long. But she wants to linger in the moment a little longer. She wants to feel her skin against his – the heat where her leg is hooked around his, her stomach rests near his hip, and the patches of an empty coolness where they are not touching, where the sweat is still drying on her back. 

June touches his lips, drawing a soft line down his chin to his chest and making loops around his heart. He stirs under her delicate touch and his eyes flutter open. He murmurs something, his voice foggy with sleep. She chokes back a sob, sorry to Luke that she won’t be seeing him soon. Sorry to Nick that she’s putting their baby at risk. Sorry again to Luke that she’s a little bit happy about staying close to Nick. Scare for Hannah and the unborn child. 

“What time is it?” Nick asks, the words all melted together as he wakes. 

“You should go,” she says before pressing a kiss to his chest and rolling away. June sits and hears him rustle behind her. She locates Nick’s shirt on the floor and hands it to him.  
He dresses haphazardly and then looks to where she sits, a sheet tangled around her body. 

“Nick, I’m going to-”

“I know,” he says. “I’m going to talk to Jonah. Find out how they’re going to take you back to the house.” He pauses. “Keep a low profile. Please. I’ll come to you.”

June nods and lifts her hand in a wave as he reluctantly leaves. She considers calling out, “I’m sorry,” but it would be a lie. Her decision feels like the right one. Like the only one.

x

The ride back to the Waterford’s is bumpy and uncomfortable. June is back in her uniform – red dress, white bonnet, brown, lace less shoes. Jonah sits in the back with her, rehearsing what to say. 

“You were being questioned about Ofsteven’s massacre,” he explains. "I have two teams out right now picking up two other handmaids for questioning. There was suspicion she colluded with another handmaid. That another stunt was being planned. You’ve been cleared.” 

He makes her repeat details about where she was, the questions she was asked. June feels a greater sense of dread heading back toward the house than she did being taken from it into the unknown. 

x

It’s a relief to see Nick’s car in the driveway when the van reaches the Waterford’s house. 

June is let out the back of the van and escorted toward the door. It’s Rita who answers the knock, and she clasps a hand to her mouth, shielding a gasp. “Come in,” she finally says, moving aside.

The Eyes usher June through the doorway and Rita nervously flutters back and forth between where they stand and the end of the hallway. “I should… Please wait here,” she says.

There is a commotion in the distance – voices, what sounds like a chair tipping over, the thud of footsteps. The Commander appears. He pales at the sight of June and the two burly men who flank her. “Offred,” he whispers. 

It’s sickening to hear it again, to be expected to respond to the name. But the disgust June feels at having to answer to the forced moniker is diminished by the terror she sees in the Commander’s eyes. He is stricken, weakened by how little he knows about what has been happening outside his home. As far as he knows, Offred revealed all of his sins and the Eyes are not bringing her back but coming for him. 

The realization that the Commander is terrified gives June a rush of power. She squares her shoulders, lifts her head. She stifles a smile and says, “Praise be.”


End file.
